Page 21 of Dirty Daria
“He’s not that attractive, right?” Reed motions to David while asking me the question. “I mean, how does he get these chicks?”
“Beats the fuck outta me. We read his profile; it was lame as shit. And no, he’s not that attractive.”
“Yes, he is,” Daria says as she passes by the open car window on her way to the restaurant. Quinn waves her fingers at us as she trails behind.
“Holy shit.” Reed throws his hands in the air, hitting the roof of the car. “This is a fucking joke, Mack, with the talking and waving. How did she even hear us?”
“Eagle fucking ears, man. The woman has eagle fucking ears.”
I watch Daria and Quinn find a table on the patio, within view of David’s, but not too close. He hasn’t seen them yet; I can tell by the way he’s still talking to his date. His posture is relaxed and his tone is even, not at all excited or nervous. Which is what I’m betting it will be once he sees Daria.
She looks amazing, but then to me she always does. Dressed in low riding jeans that hug her hips and ass, a belt with a big buckle, and a low-cut, loose T-shirt, tucked in at the front. With, of course, a heeled boot. The look is sexy as fuck but still casual. She’s wearing her hair down and it falls in waves beyond her shoulders. Looking so soft I want to run my fingers through it.
Reed groans from his side of the car. “My god, how was I ever friends with this guy? Do these lines really work on women?”
I tune back in to hear David telling his date that she should be a model in one of those fitness magazines since she’s soeffortlessly beautiful.
“Should we take notes, try some of them out?”
Reed rolls his eyes at me.
David and the woman continue to make small talk, each ordering a cocktail and sharing an appetizer. To his credit, David is a decent and complimentary date. If you don’t count the fact that he plans to drug her and sell her into the sex slave trade later.
12
Daria
“Do you think it would piss Mack off if I shoot David?”
“Well, I think it would probably mess their whole thing up. But who could blame you, really? I mean, we’re fairly sure he’s involved in your sister’s disappearance. Weknowhe’s involved in other women disappearing, and he’s a lousy kisser.” Quinn giggles as she says the last part. We are on our second cocktail each since David and his date seem to be taking their sweet ass time with their evening together.
What Quinn did not add, and if I have anything to do with she’ll never even know about, is that David was originally planning to sell her as well. Even if he had nothing to do with my sister, I want to hurt him for that. And by hurt, I mean torture. In ways that would take days for him to die.
I order a third cocktail as well as an appetizer. Quinn is only halfway through her second drink, but she’ll need something to help soak the alcohol up.
“Is it because you own a bar?” she asks. I wait for her to continue the question as it’s very much like Quinn to ask the second half of a question first, thinking you’ll either wait for her to clarify, or you’ll magically know what she’s talking about.
“That you have such a high tolerance for booze?”
“No,” I say. “It’s because I’m Russian. We start drinking vodka before we are even off the tit.”
We both laugh, even though I’m hardly exaggerating. Much.
I look over to David’s table, the smile still stuck on my face. Which is when he looks over and our eyes meet. His own light up for a minute, until recognition hits and he realizes who I am and who I’m with. Giving me more than enough time to replace the mirth on my face with fury. If I could kill him with my stare, I would be doing so right now. Instead, I raise my right hand, point my thumb and index finger into the shape of a gun, and mouth the word, “POW” as I pretend to shoot.
His face pales as he turns his attention back to his date.
“Did you just finger shoot David?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You’re such a badass, Daria.” Quinn giggles again as the server drops off my cocktail and the appetizer that I ordered. My phone vibrates from inside my pocket. I smile a thanks at the server at the same time as I pull it out to see who’s calling.
Mack.
I push the button to answer, bringing it up to my ear.
“Why are you calling me?” I ask at the same time he says, “What in the fuck are you doing?”
